There had been a time when he would have seized upon her discomfort, when he would already have her wreathed in flames while his eyes danced in the light. At his mother’s bidding, her voice ever-present in his mind, he would have taken the whole forest down. Such had been her power over him, her bitter creation, the result of an unwilling coupling. She had used him to her advantage, bending him to her will as though to keep her own hands clean of the havoc he wreaked in her name.
Old habits die hard and even now, in the stillness of the night and the quiet thoughts that are only his, Doctor knows no better.
He leers at her through the darkness, this pretty golden girl who had just happened to catch his attention. He takes careful steps around her, slowly edging closer as he circles like one of the wolves she claims not to fear. She stands bold in his presence, alert and confident in spite of his offhanded attempts to spook her, and it makes him smile more, appreciative of her valor.
Doctor shakes his mane and snorts embers as he lifts his head, finally taking his eyes from her.
“Wolves I have danced with,” he tells her simply, flicking one ear toward one of their mournful calls in the distance. The other he leaves turned toward her, not intent on allowing her to bolt, should she choose to try running from him. He, too, has been alone for some time, and even if his intentions seem malicious, he merely craves the company.
He means his statement both literally and figuratively – canids were not the only type of wolves in Beqanna, after all. A mild shiver passes over him, starting at his withers and passing along his barrel and haunches, ending with an almost angry switch of his tail. The memories still feel fresh in his mind; his mother’s magic had preserved him as much as it had scalded him, slowing time to a degree that he had not noticed its passage at all. Events from decades ago feel as if they transpired mere weeks or even days ago.
He sighs again, a thin plume of smoke mingling with the air.
“What of lions?” he asks her now, finally turning his coppery gaze back to her. There is some irony in the question, for him. His sire had taken the form of a tiger when he’d assaulted his mother. The idea of ‘dancing’ with a mountain lion suddenly has all the allure of revenge, even if it is long overdue (and equally undue).
“There is one that hunts on the north side of this forest, near the mountains,” he explains, stepping closer to her now even though he expects that she will draw away. “I have seen it prey on foals in springtime. Such pitiful little creatures, just snatched away…” He tilts his head as he studies her. “Care to join me?” He grins. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Old habits die hard and even now, in the stillness of the night and the quiet thoughts that are only his, Doctor knows no better.
He leers at her through the darkness, this pretty golden girl who had just happened to catch his attention. He takes careful steps around her, slowly edging closer as he circles like one of the wolves she claims not to fear. She stands bold in his presence, alert and confident in spite of his offhanded attempts to spook her, and it makes him smile more, appreciative of her valor.
Doctor shakes his mane and snorts embers as he lifts his head, finally taking his eyes from her.
“Wolves I have danced with,” he tells her simply, flicking one ear toward one of their mournful calls in the distance. The other he leaves turned toward her, not intent on allowing her to bolt, should she choose to try running from him. He, too, has been alone for some time, and even if his intentions seem malicious, he merely craves the company.
He means his statement both literally and figuratively – canids were not the only type of wolves in Beqanna, after all. A mild shiver passes over him, starting at his withers and passing along his barrel and haunches, ending with an almost angry switch of his tail. The memories still feel fresh in his mind; his mother’s magic had preserved him as much as it had scalded him, slowing time to a degree that he had not noticed its passage at all. Events from decades ago feel as if they transpired mere weeks or even days ago.
He sighs again, a thin plume of smoke mingling with the air.
“What of lions?” he asks her now, finally turning his coppery gaze back to her. There is some irony in the question, for him. His sire had taken the form of a tiger when he’d assaulted his mother. The idea of ‘dancing’ with a mountain lion suddenly has all the allure of revenge, even if it is long overdue (and equally undue).
“There is one that hunts on the north side of this forest, near the mountains,” he explains, stepping closer to her now even though he expects that she will draw away. “I have seen it prey on foals in springtime. Such pitiful little creatures, just snatched away…” He tilts his head as he studies her. “Care to join me?” He grins. “I’ll keep you safe.”
doctor
@Umani